Silence of the Dead
by Cazio
Summary: John Marston explores the land after the apocalypse by fire. Oneshot.


CONTEMOPRARY LIT FINAL

Emma Galasso

A parched dusty trail cracked through the barren landscape in strange curls and twists in the road, weaving between burnt trees and boulders; quite unlike the modern roadways that blasted through mountains and chopped down the plant life. The plains were never really green except in springtime, when the poppies flourished. It was usually golden yellow and brown with the occasional lone tree watching over the land. That was probably the reason he hadn't seen the difference since it happened. The grass was the same yellow, but the trees seemed different though he couldn't place why. Then, the fires came and swallowed the land, scarfing down his crops and scorching his precious cattle. He'd managed to survive, just like always. He was the only one left now, his wife and son both dead. He'd outpaced the flames on his horse, the fastest on the plains, the flames licking at his heels.

Now all that was visible of that life was the trails. Deer trails in the blackened woods and horse trails covering the country. The roads were seething pools, and he'd seen a deer attempt to cross just after the fires and get stuck by the hooves, slowly burning to death. He still had the horse he rode those few months before, but now its skin was stretched over its bones and its eyes were sunken in, mirroring the nature around them. His steed's glistening black coat was now streaked with mud, sand and crusted blood, covered in a thick layer of dust. He dared not push him past a trot, the creature was so frail it could collapse at any moment. He shouldn't even be riding it anymore, but he couldn't will himself to leave the last friend he had.

Lets go. His voice was raspy and hoarse. Before the fire he'd been the hero of the farmers, saving their stock, rescuing lost children and shooting the ever persistent wolf packs that skirted outside the pasture. His horse stumbled into a walk, its hip bones jutting out like rock faces, sinking back into the body and sliding out again with each step. The man could see the hunger in the black eyes of his horse, eyeing the grass and grinding its bit in its mouth. He knew better to let it eat the grass. It was so laden with dust it would do much more harm than good. He'd searched the barns of his old neighbors, often finding their scalded corpses in the haylofts. He always fed the horse any old hay he could find, and even found a few molded carrots. The horse followed the trail before it, and the man looked down at the horse's mane, trying to remember when these fields were brimming with all sorts of creatures.

Slow up now. They'd walked through the night, the dust was slowly beginning to block out the moon, but the ground was still visible when he squinted. The sound of hooves on packed dirt changed to the thunking on wood and a chill ran up the man's spine. He'd crossed this tiny bridge countless times to get to the General Store. Now it was silent, the familiar sounds of newly broken mustangs and the clucking of chickens were gone. Replaced with wind and grayness that suffocated him. He looked around the tiny ranch town and swallowed at the sight of an old friend of his, her body blackened and mutilated by the flames. She was holding onto a horse, whose face was contorted in speechless pain. It was almost as if time had frozen and the man was a ghost, walking down the beaten path that was his life.

Is it really only me?

There was no answer.

Come out! He was yelling now, and felt like his throat was being torn open. He felt stinging in his eyes, but did not cry, it was not a man's place to cry. His echoes faded and nothing stirred. He slid off of his horse and sat right in the middle of the path, burying his face in his hands. His horse stood next to him and then started forward, but stopped when the reins tightened.

You're gonna leave me too? The man asked. The horse opened its mouth and the beginnings of a sound travelled from its throat. Then the man noticed its legs were shaking and it fell to its knees. The man rushed forward.

Wait. Wait, please. He stood, the first feeling of panic rushing through his veins. The horse could not die now, it couldn't leave him alone to wander like an insane old man. He ran instinctively, his rough leather boots pounding on the parched dirt. He found himself at the barn, a barn he'd cleaned and tacked horses in. That was a lifetime ago, when he was much younger and stupider. He scanned the bottom floor but found no traces of straw. He jumped onto the rotting wood ladder and almost cried out with joy as the sight of yellow-brown hay caught his eye. He grabbed an armload and shoved it from the loft, and slid down the ladder with a jump in his step. He grabbed the hay again and took off running, his legs screaming for him to stop but he was too focused on the barely moving animal in the middle of the path. He shoved the hay in front of the horse. It inhaled once, and the its soft top lip wiggled out and gripped the hay. The man fell onto his back, sighing with relief. He put his hands behind his head and looked into the light grey sky, his cowboy hat tipped to block out the light from his eyes. He would rest now, out in the open musty air of his home, while his horse regained some energy. Sleep came easy for once, the sound of his horse eating was music to his ears.

He opened his eyes and instantly tensed, a habit of his that had saved his life more than once. Something was wrong, but it didn't appear to be something immediate. He propped himself onto his elbows and saw that his horse was gone. He jumped to his feet and whistled. Slow plodding hooves sounded from a distance, before the fire came, the horse galloped to him, sometimes just running by without a care. Now, it walked. He saw the dusted black ears perk from over the hill and he started walking down the path. Something silvery caught his eye and he picked up into a slow jog. This better be a gun. The man murmured aloud. He grabbed the shining metal and yanked, the bush encasing it snapped and the object, which was undoubtedly not a gun, flew out and slammed into the man's chest. He sat up and shoved the metal from him. It was a metal cart with a few old cans of beans rattling around inside it. He shrugged and pocketed the cans. He shoved the cart forward onto the road and the horse's ear flattened and it danced away in fear. The man chuckled, the closest thing to a laugh he'd experienced in a long while.

Come on, we're leavin'. He told the horse and mounted up. Maybe someone will have use for that piece of scrap! He chuckled again, shaking his head. He spurred the horse forward and the slowly trotted forward to travel to other desolate places, the scenery unchanging and the silence crowding his thoughts.


End file.
